Behr, the host.  A white napkin, fastened in one button-hole, and hanging gracefully down beside him—­a soup-ladle held sceptre-wise in his right hand, and the grinding motion of his nether jaw, all showed that he had risen from his table d’hote to welcome the new arrival; and certainly, if noise and uproar might explain the phenomenon, the clatter of my equipage over the pavement might have risen the dead.

While my postillion was endeavouring, by mighty efforts, with a heavy stone, to turn the handle of the door, and thus liberate me from my cage, I perceived that the host came forward and said something to him—­on replying, to which, he ceased his endeavours to open the door, and looked vacantly about him.  Upon this I threw down the sash, and called out—­

“I say, is not this the Croix Blanche?”

“Ya,” said the man-mountain with the napkin.

“Well, then, open the door, pray—­I’m going to stop here.”

“Nein.”

“No!  What do you mean by that?  Has not Lord Callonby engaged rooms here?”

“Ya.”

“Well, then, I am a particular friend of his, and will stay here also.”

“Nein.”

“What the devil are you at, with your ya and nein?” said I.  “Has your confounded tongue nothing better than a monosyllable to reply with.”

Whether disliking the tone the controversy was assuming, or remembering that his dinner waited, I know not, but at these words my fat friend turned leisurely round, and waddled back into the house; where, in a moment after, I had the pleasure of beholding him at the head of a long table, distributing viands with a very different degree of activity from what he displayed in dialogue.

With one vigorous jerk, I dashed open the door, upsetting, at the same time, the poor postillion, who had recommenced his operations on the lock, and, foaming with passion, strode into the “salle a manger.”  Nothing is such an immediate damper to any sudden explosion of temper, as the placid and unconcerned faces of a number of people, who, ignorant of yourself and your peculiar miseries at the moment, seem only to regard you as a madman.  This I felt strongly, as, flushed in face and tingling in my fingers, I entered the room.

“Take my luggage,” said I to a gaping waiter, “and place a chair there, do you hear?”

There seemed, I suppose, something in my looks that did not admit of much parley, for the man made room for me at once at the table, and left the room, as if to discharge the other part of my injunction, without saying a word.  As I arranged my napkin before me, I was collecting my energies and my German, as well as I was able, for the attack of the host, which, I anticipated from his recent conduct, must now ensue; but, greatly to my surprise, he sent me my soup without a word, and the dinner went on without any interruption.  When the desert had made its appearance, I beckoned the waiter towards me, and asked what the landlord meant by his singular reception of me.  The man shrugged his shoulders, and raised his eyebrows, without speaking, as if to imply, “it’s his way.”